


Last Breath

by taxidermy



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 07:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14848562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taxidermy/pseuds/taxidermy
Summary: Jigen and Goemon go on a date very late at night





	Last Breath

“Goddamnit.”

Jigen placed the menu back in the stack with as much force as one could. He exited the confines of the marble-plated eatery and perched himself near the doorway, crossing his arms, gritting his teeth. Goemon followed him at a safe distance as if his companion were about to explode into pieces.

“What is this bullshit?! What kind of deli has a BLT? Ham? No good deli has ham in it. Shouldn’t even be calling themselves a deli. No different than any other diner in Manhattan.”

He might as well have been ranting to a brick wall, as all these buildings looked the same to him. The gaudy neon signs blurred together in a mesh of rainbow, confusing to the point that it didn’t make any difference whether they were going to eat their late dinner at a deli, a diner, or a store that only sold porcelain vases.

“Aren’t you from here? Aren’t there any restaurants you know of in the area?”

Jigen looked him in the face, letting out a long breath, as if he were about to raise his voice. After a few seconds, he released it into a sigh, apparently having decided against it. He turned away and spoke in something of a murmur.

“It’s a big city. I know lots of places. None of them here, though. I’m not even _from_ Manhattan. We can go somewhere one of my old bosses liked, unless you wanna get an $18 cheese plate on Lexington and run into some crazy Italian bastard who wants to kill me.” He scoffed, the very idea abhorrent. “Plus, they keep changing everything. The rent must’ve gotten so high that you can’t open up a place for more than half a year.”

Well, that was reason enough. He was almost tempted to ask him why it mattered so much that a deli didn’t serve ham but there were only so many times that Jigen got to return to his home. Tonight, he’d humor him. Goemon was probably just as selective about the things he was familiar with.

After a short pause, and a ‘c’mon’ motion from Jigen’s hand, they were on their way again, walking side by side.

This wasn’t Goemon’s first time in New York City; it was, in fact, his second. His first time was about half a year ago, when they attempted to track down a recently discovered 13th century tapestry, only for Fujiko to play it right out of Lupin’s hands and leave him with a half empty container of chocolate chip cookies. The affair was five or so days long and they had spent it in their hideout, the museum, and some streets he couldn’t remember the name of.

This time, he and Jigen had participated in the scheme about halfway through before Lupin insisted he do the rest of it by himself. With all due respect, even God probably couldn’t figure out what was going on in that man’s mind.

“Make sure you save some for me, big guy.” In a spare room in some poor old lady’s penthouse, during a party, a few hours earlier, Lupin teased Jigen before dismissing them for the night.

“You got all the food you want here, I don’t see why you need me to buy y-”

“Don’t be coy with me!” He gave him a playful nudge in the arm. “I know what you two are gonna be doing, now that you’re all alone…” He contorted his face into an exaggerated whimper. “It’s so sad when you introduce two people and they become better _friends_ than they were with you…”

“If you’re so upset, you can come with us,” Goemon replied, not having thought out the meaning of that sentence entirely until it came out of his mouth.

Lupin could have still been in that penthouse, or maybe he was back in the hideout, they didn’t know. They stayed a few blocks nearby just in case he needed them.

For all their trouble, they hadn’t even bothered to change clothes. For some reason, this heist required them to don what Lupin politely termed “light formal”. For Jigen, it was more or less what he usually wore, sans the tie, the top quarter of his hairy chest visible, not that Goemon was looking. For himself, it involved being forced out of his comfortable gi (although he insisted that he carry Zantetsuken as he usually did). He was instead outfitted with a less comfortable button-up shirt, a pair of bell bottoms, oxfords, a matching pair of large, tinted sunglasses, and a ponytail.

He didn’t think that Lupin fully understood that fighting the way he did required him to wear pants that aren't tight on the legs or the crotch. Also, he looked like an asshole.

He folded the glasses and placed them into his shirt pocket.

It was well past midnight, too late to be night but too early to be morning. Despite the hour, people still roamed the streets and lights were still on. Truly a city that never slept. There was something different on every street corner. The variations in signage, architectural style, and people couldn’t match it all up to one exact location or time period. But after a while of roaming the streets, all the colors, sights, and sounds became a bit more than he could bear. Or maybe that was just his hunger.

“Where exactly are we going?” If the local was as lost as he was, they may as well have been walking the streets with blindfolds.

“There’s one more place around here, if I remember correctly.” Jigen was leading the way a few paces ahead of him. “It’s actually good, too. Used to go there from time to time. The guy who owns it may be dead, though. Or it might be closed for the night. We’ll see.”

“The guy who owns it _may_ be _dead_.”

“He was in the business.” They took a sharp turn right at the end of the block. “Had pretty high ranking in his family. Owned a bunch of delis across the city, mostly in Brooklyn. Though he liked to save up half the money he was supposed to give to his boss for his daughter’s college fund. Good man. Not to his boss, though.”

The scenario played out like a movie in his head. A stout, middle-aged American man, hiding behind the door of his bedroom. Pistol in his trembling hand. Wife and daughter close by. An ominous note in the air as footsteps sounded in the house.  Tearful whispers of ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m sorry’. Awaiting their deaths at the hands of those they used to trust.

It was a frightening business, the one Jigen involved himself in during his past life. All the more so for someone who couldn’t defend himself to the same capacity. He couldn’t imagine making a living in a world where he couldn’t live and die on his own values. Where those he cared for were at such a risk, against their own choices.

Jigen’s hands were in his pockets, the brim of his hat covering his eyes.

He didn’t know too much about his past and never made it a point to ask. If the anecdote was any hint, it was a tough subject. He’d picked up some snippets here and there - working with the mafia, growing close to some famed foreign vocalist. An important older Italian woman who killed herself. A long and motley existence marked only by a few scars and impeccable aiming.

Not that he’d ever tell him that he had impeccable aiming out loud. Not without a fight, anyways.

It was another short block before Jigen slowed down.

“Yep, still there. Thank god.”

The building was plated in shiny metallic red and silver and topped with gaudy neon signage. The windows in between revealed the inside, a paradise of tiles, red cushioned booths, and billiard tables. Goemon held the door for Jigen then went in after him.

“Let’s get a booth.” Goemon felt that it would be better for them to be as detached from the rest of the establishment as they possibly could.

He wondered what sort of place this was, to be open at such a late hour of the night. But there were people other than Jigen and himself who worked or otherwise wandered the streets at these hours. Those people had to eat at some point, didn’t they? The compact establishment was half filled with their fellow night-walkers. Stubbled younger men in expensive suits and dark sunglasses, clean-shaven older men with beer guts and hairy chests, women of all ages in tight dresses and too much makeup. They stuffed large quantities of meat between two slices of bread into their gullets, slid cigarettes between their lips, and shouted and laughed in several sorts of harshly accented English over the radio’s slow-paced ballads.

It all passed him by in a haze, as if he were in a dream. Truly, he couldn’t have even imagined that people and places like these existed before he started traveling with Lupin. No one gave him and Jigen even a half a second glance as they weaved their way through the fog of cigarette smoke to seat themselves in a booth in the quietest corner of the room.

“Don’t bother with the menu, I’ll order for us.”

A middle aged woman with a name tag and not much else on slammed two leather bound menus on either side of the table. Despite having decided to lay his trust in Jigen tonight, he flipped through it curiously.

Some of the items on the menu he recognized - hamburgers, french fries, milkshakes, soup, salad. But that was where his recognition stopped. This menu was practically in a foreign language. Among the unidentifiable food objects included ‘blintzes’, ‘franks’, ‘pastrami’, ‘pierogies’, and a particularly disgusting-sounding word, ‘borscht’, among other things. He whispered that word to himself, sounding it out. Borscht. _Booooruuusheeeeet_. B-o-r-s-c-h-t. Bo-ru-shi-chi-to. Bo-ru-shi-to. Bo-ru-shi-te. Bo-ru-shi-chi.

“C’mon, Goemon. You’re making me nervous.”

He looked up to find the older man staring down at him through the brim of his hat.

“I ordered us some whiskeys. No sake here. Also got us a milkshake.”

Had he really been staring at the menu for so long? He knew that he could focus on one thing and tune out the rest of the world, but was never fully aware of it whenever it happened. Perhaps it was the result of good training.

“Did you order the food?”

“Yeah. Got us reubens.”

Goemon raised an eyebrow.

“Corned beef, cheese, Russian dressing, sauerkraut. It’s a sandwich. With fries and pickles.”

“Doesn’t sound very healthy.”

Jigen crossed his arms. “Don’t know why you’re such a stickler for health. You drink as much as I do, for god’s sake.”

A proper training was required for his diet, he wanted to reply, but that would just sound inane at this point. Goemon faced him almost completely and forced a smirk so he wouldn’t come off the wrong way. “At least I temper my drinks with vegetables.”

“Alright, mom. I’ll make sure to take a bag of baby carrots with me next time.” He chuckled a bit and leaned on his chair with his arms behind his head. His maneuver seemed to have worked, because Jigen was smiling. It was the sort of smile that Goemon was particularly fond of because it rounded out his features and made him appear more warm and less curmudgeonly.

Not wanting to appear as if he were staring at him, he blinked himself back to reality.

The waitress came and went and brought their drinks along with her. Two whiskeys and a large chocolate milkshake accompanied by eight or so straws laid in front of them.

“Why did she bring us so many straws?”

Jigen unwrapped one of them and dipped it inside the milkshake. “She was probably just tired and grabbed a handful.”

Goemon copied the action, taking a small sip for taste. “Just don’t drink the whole thing.”

“I can buy you as many as you want,” Jigen responded, pouring his whisky inside and taking an even larger sip than Goemon had.

Goemon did the same, mixing the concoction a bit so it wouldn’t taste too much like whisky or too much like chocolate milkshake. “You say that every time and then finish the whole thing on your own.”

Jigen took another lengthy sip. The milkshake, which was brought over to them only minutes ago, was now almost halfway finished. “I do not.”

Goemon snatched it away before Jigen could finish. He gulped it down through both straws, trying to match the amount that Jigen had consumed on his own. The alcohol felt funny in his throat but he braved through it until the cup was satisfyingly empty. After sticking his thumb on the roof of his mouth for a few seconds to avoid brain freeze, he slapped it on the table.

“There. Now we’ve drunk an equal amount.”

“Hmm.” Jigen picked up the cup and examined it. “I mean, I’ll buy another one...but…” He snickered. “...that had a lot of alcohol in it.”

“I-I know.” He put on the smuggest expression he could muster. “But you drank as much as I did. Like I said.”

“You’re still keeping’ that up? I only took a few sips! You drank from it, too.”

Goemon rolled his eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t have saved your life as many times as I have. Then this would never have happened.”

“Y-you don’t mean that?!”

“Hmm. And what if I do?”

“Well, if you hadn’t saved my life all those times, I wouldn’t be here to get you dinner!”

The noble samurai, now defeated, crossed his arms and huffed. “That much is true, Jigen. That much is true.”

Jigen ordered another round of whiskeys and a shake. The two were now silently competing to see who could drink the most while still holding their ground. Sipping the shake from opposite sides of the table, staring at each other, and giggling like schoolgirls whenever their heads bumped. If anything, Goemon was grateful that alcohol could loosen the atmosphere. It made them both relaxed, honest men. Made it easier to think about and do certain things, just like when they...no, not now, maybe later.

The arrival of their meals helped them not completely pass into the realm of blackout, puking drunkenness. The reuben was a very American sandwich, containing more fillings than bread, leaking over onto his fries. Jigen gorged his down the moment the plate met the table so Goemon decided that he should try some of his as well. He picked it up with his bare hands, the filling now leaking into his fingers. He attempted to eat it, but the sandwich itself was bigger than his mouth could open, so he settled on taking a bite from a corner.

He put it down and sucked all of his fingers clean.

“How’s it?” Jigen was staring right at him, his mouth half full of food. He had put his sandwich down and was paying attention to his fries.

“It’s alright,” he replied, answering honestly. “A bit too sweet.” He reached over to the center of the table and grabbed two half-sour pickles to put on his plate.

“Yeah? That’s the dressing.”

Goemon stuffed multiple fries into his mouth and took a big bite out of one of his pickles. The silence that usually accompanies a meal endued as they dug into their food like hungry pigs. The two of them could always share a comfortable silence, but they had both eventually began to eat slower and slower, Goemon had a resounding need to say something. Anything to make the atmosphere less tense.

“So, this is what you ate?”

“What I...ate?”

Damnit. Goemon, you idiot. Or alcohol. Whatever, it was too late now. He took off another big chunk of the corner of his sandwich.

“...I mean, when you came here.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. I mean, they have other stuff, too. But their reubens were always...nice...and big.”

They both chuckled.

“No, really! I saw you eat it. You couldn’t even fit it into your mouth!”

They laughed even louder. It was a stupid joke, but he had to slightly commend him for digging them out of whatever hole it was that Goemon dug.

After getting the last few chuckles out of his system, Goemon took some more sips out of the shake and finished as much food as he could. He could feel the warm pulse of the effects of alcohol take him over. The food had managed to slow it down to a serene pace that felt more like peaceful sleepiness than sickness. He rested his head in his hands and his elbows on the table. Jigen asked the waitress if she could bring over the bill.

“You know, I like seeing you like this, Goemon. You really just need a break sometimes.” Jigen weaved his fingers through Goemon’s hair, something he didn’t do often.

“I take breaks.”

“Yeah, but...that’s not what I meant. You’re too tense. You know?”

His temperament and the details of his training were too much for Jigen to understand and too much for him to explain at the current moment.

“That’s why I get a massage every month. It’s good for the muscles.”

“No-I...you know what I mean.” He mumbled something about drinking turning him into a smartass but Goemon didn't really feel like retorting.

He didn’t know why Jigen worried so much that he get proper breaks, whatever his personal definition for ‘breaks’ was. He wasn’t the biggest fan of laying on the couch and watching television for hours on end. They both had their own ways of spending their spare time. Sometimes that meant going to a diner or deli and sharing a milkshake and having dinner together. And that was that.

Or maybe by ‘breaks’, he meant…

It’s been a little while, and the only other person he’d really been with before was Fujiko, so he wasn’t exactly familiar with flirting and playing games and what that entailed. Fujiko was always so straightforward, but Jigen preferred to keep to himself, leaving Goemon alone to try to decipher him. But the situation was becoming all that much more like the last one, from the humidity, to the atmosphere, to the shirt buttons that Jigen didn’t care to do up.

It was some weeks ago, late at night while they were in a hideout in Okinawa. It was a few days shy of summer and the moonlight illuminated the silhouettes of passers-by outside the window. Lupin was, as now, on business somewhere across the expanse of the island. And the two of them were, as now, left alone and quite drunk.

He didn’t remember much about the action himself. He remembered that he’d initiated it, something he couldn’t have done without a few drinks in him, and Jigen went along after some surprise. It was a hot, almost humid night, as the two of them were sticky with sweat the next morning. And there were multiple kisses, and something funny, because he remembers them taking breaks to catch their breaths and laugh.

The most memorable part of the occasion, however, was Lupin’s return to the hideout the next morning. He arrived after a lengthy yet successful stakeout only to find his two companions half naked and laying on top of each other on the floor like carelessly tossed laundry. They wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks after.

And here they were, alone, drunk, sweaty. Again. He would just have to do...whatever it was that he did last time again. Easier said than done, really.

The bill arrived. Jigen read it over and laid a wad of money on the table after some careful counting. The two of them got up and dusted themselves off.

“You can’t just leave whatever money you want here. If you’re even a cent off they’ll come for you. And worse if it's fake.”

They made their way out of the restaurant into the dark of the city, the lights fewer but still the stars of the dark of the evening. Like the stars in the sky in his home. The breeze was a relief compared to the stuffiness of the indoors. Neither of them cared to check the time.

Jigen was looking at him, his eyes visible, his fingers twitching, his mouth notably missing a cigarette. He wanted something, he was sure. There was something he was supposed to pick up on and speak about. Some sort of hint.

But it was different. Goemon was different, at least. He was no detective. They were men, they weren’t supposed to play games and talk about such menial things under whispers and inside of bedclothes post-coitus. Maybe he was just nervous and Jigen shared the same sentiments. Might as well be straightforward.

“I enjoyed our date.”

Jigen chuckled, flinging his arm around Goemon’s shoulders and yanking him to his side. “Is that what that was?”

Goemon laughed along and pulled himself up. “If Lupin had anything to say about it.”

“Hmph. Well, _you_ didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t think I’d have to.”

“We’re alone and drunk a lot. If you didn’t have to say anything I would’ve gotten you pregnant by now.”

They laughed heartily at that stupid joke, almost tripping over themselves. Goemon figured he could parse the deeper meaning of it later.

They stopped laughing after a bit, now just staring at each other, having stopped at some street corner. Jigen leaned on the wall of some building and took out a box of cigarettes from his front pocket. He fished one out and slowly, deliberately, delicately - ever so delicately -  placed one in his mouth.

Looking straight at him the whole time, the bastard.

Goemon leaned over and threw the unlit cigarette onto the ground. Quickly, almost trembling, he closed the space between them and leaned over with his lips pursed.

Jigen placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes widened, looking both ways from them.

“Not here.”

Heeding his words, clenching his fist in quiet anger, Goemon pulled away. They continued their trek to the hideout faster than they had been before.

The other man always had a sort of silent, over-the-shoulder alertness to him, even at this hour of the night. It wasn’t like his own, searching out hidden sights and sounds, a precaution he had to take for survival. It was more of a fastidiousness. An awareness of situations, of other people. Of consequences and what could happen or may have happened. Something he’d picked up after years of working in the underworld, no doubt.

But even then, he didn't have to tempt - no, _tease_ him that way. The whole night was just like running into a brick wall that was painted to look like a road. He'd show him.

It was a few blocks, alleyways, and spiral staircases before they reached it - a practically  remote but well-kept small apartment building that looked like it belonged anywhere other than New York City. Multiple rooms, although they, Lupin, and Fujiko were the only tennants. Wall-to-wall plastic crystals and dark beige marble juxtaposed the dim lighting.

Goemon was calmer now, almost out of breath, his eyes scanning the room. No signs of any recent activity.  They were alone.

“Well, if you changed your mind, I’ll head upstairs.”

Oh, no you don't.

Before Jigen could act on his words, he grabbed him by the arm, turning him around and pressing his mouth to his.

He never was all that good at kissing, Goemon remembered as he clumsily mawed at the other man’s lips and kept his tongue practically static inside of his mouth. He’d done it before so it wasn’t like he didn’t have experience. Maybe it was one of those things you had to not think about. But once you thought about not thinking about it, you thought about it. In the process of thinking, not thinking, maneuvering his tongue, and creeping his hand under the opened spot of Jigen’s shirt, he must’ve not noticed how much weight he was putting on him. Or vice versa. Before they knew it they fell over each other with an unceremonious thud onto the foot of the stairs.

They laughed at themselves anyways.

“You can be real dense sometimes, Goemon. You know that?”

“Not any more than you.”

They slowly picked themselves up and made their way up the stairs, the laughter fading out, Goemon's breath leveling. The destination was just one flight and across the hall. Jigen fished a pair of keys from inside of a nearby potted plant and unlocked the door.

He could only take one step into the room before Jigen pinned him behind the door, slamming it shut. Wrists above his head, arms bent, he let out a short gasp.

 "Don’t think too much.”

He continued the kiss that began on the stairs.

Goemon knew that he could overpower him if he really wanted to, but, as he’d concluded earlier, he’d humor him tonight. Instead, he kissed back with as much force as he could allow himself. The wave of heat inside of him that weighed down his eyelids and turned his brain into fog fought against the impulse. The two moods mixed and intertwined with his drunkenness into a strange calm.

Then the other’s mouth left his and he couldn’t do anything about it. Moving across his jaw, slowly travelling towards his neck. Jigen’s other hand toyed with the waistband of his bell bottoms and worked its way under. So much for tight pants.

He supposed, then and there, pinned to the door as he was, that there was a second time for everything.

 

**Author's Note:**

> criticism welcomed & appreciated  
> 


End file.
